


Bleeding Star and Bitter Heart

by Ramzes



Series: Night So Dark and Star So Pale [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Multi, Not A Happy Ending, Not Happy, elia still darkish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 18:35:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13687446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramzes/pseuds/Ramzes
Summary: At this moment, Arthur was ready to accept Prince Doran’s task with enthusiasm and add another to it: he would make Elia happy. Capable of trust once again. It looked like he was the only one who could. The one who would.





	Bleeding Star and Bitter Heart

 

Ryon Allyrion left King’s Landing in a day that was cold and gloomy but could not be better for Arthur. He had never liked Ryon this much anyway and since his taking up with Elia, he had started liking him even less. Doran Martell’s leaving was almost as good. The Prince of Dorne’s unfailing civility had started wearing off on him soon after he had detected its glaciality – about an hour after he had first encountered it. At least without him around, Arthur had a chance to patch up things with Oberyn and – the Seven help him in this endeavor – his own brother. Cold indifference had never been Oberyn Martell’s thing and while it had been Arel’s many times, Arthur hoped that in this case, it was more of a learned behavior against further ruining their House standing by emulating Doran’s own behavior, rather than a real feeling or rather, the lack thereof. Actually, he had recently started wondering if Elia was not being influenced by her eldest brother, with or without Doran knowing it. She had started showing distrust when Doran had demonstrated his own distrust. Before, she had started melting.

And of course, Doran had saddled him with the worst possible squire of all, asking the question in front of the entire Dornish party, so Arthur could not even refuse without dealing a huge offence to House Blackmont. Larra’s own reluctance did not matter at all – in fact, she turned so white that Arel made a movement as if to support her but checked himself in time and stayed his hands at his sides. 

“You never do anything without a reason, my Prince,” Larra told Doran later, when it was just the two of them with Elia and the children and Arthur at the door that Oberyn was just coming through. “So why?” 

“Do some thinking.” Doran’s voice was non-apologetic but without the glaciality reserved for Arthur. 

Young Perros Blackmont seemed to have soaked his mother’s dislike for Arthur – in fact, Dorne’s dislike as a whole. As annoying and disappointing as it was to admit it, the fact could not be denied: Arthur was not used to having a squire who did not look at him with awe. Every Dornish boy would have been thrilled by being assigned to the Sword of the Morning… about a year ago. This one was obedient, efficient, indifferent, and bad at arms. So bad that Arthur had no idea what he should do with him. In fact, not quite… With morningstar, hammer, and bow, young Perros was quite skilled but his spearwork ranked a little higher than failure and just a little lower than his swordplay. How was Arthur supposed to fix this? One could not _not_ have a decent grasp of swordplay. It would speak badly of Arthur – and the master-at-arms, who did not care at all, it seemed. “I can’t do much with a boy who refuses to learn,” he said when Arthur went to him with his concern. “Make him put in some effort, and then we’ll have something to talk about.” 

What a cheap way to wiggle his way out of his responsibility! Arthur’s opinion of Aron Santagar as an honest man was undergoing a fast change. 

Larra did not ask him once how her son fared and of course, he would not go to her with his concerns. Feeling of failure crushed him with increasing force and he found himself remembering his former squire ever so often. The boy had been able, efficient, worshipping… and dead. Let’s not forget dead. Arthur had not been allowed to take him along as they had started their fateful journey with Rhaegar and he had died at the Trident. The guilt that he had started to push away some returned with vengeance. 

And still, just when everything looked as darkest as it ever had, Elia started looking at him. Not with tenderness or even desire but she looked at him from time to time and at those moments, there was some bewilderment about her. Some indecisiveness. As if she couldn’t make sense of something. As if she wanted to try something. 

Days went by. Queen Rhaella made her fists stroll around the gardens after little Princess Daenerys’ birth unaided and stopping just once or twice to take breath. The smile that Elia greeted Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, became less perfunctory each time.  Aegon started toddling around and Rhaenys started to drag him by the hand, always in a hurry to get somewhere and stomping her feet when he fell or wasn’t quick enough, the black kitten mewling indignantly and swelling to the size of a lion each time the little King happened to trip straight at him. Soon, he started darting to the far wall at the mere sight of something that resembled silvery hair placed at the right height. Arthur’s squire was forbidden from making appearance in the practice yard when Santangar and his underlings had practice sessions and when Arthur demanded of the man to give him some explanation, he was told in no uncertain terms that their time was too valuable to waste on someone who deliberately underperformed so Arthur could prove himself and teach his squire himself – a good way to avoid taking any responsibility _and_ stay in Lady Blackmont’s good graces. 

So Arthur found himself in the practice yard with a growing boy. One who was not perceptive at all. It was boring. Tedious. Waste of time. But he did not have much better things to do with his time anyway. He did not have people to do them with. Even his conversations with Larra when he had to tell her that her son would not make a warrior made some _change_. 

And then , Elia. One night, as he stood guard before her door. She simply opened the door, took his hand and dragged him in, and the rest was history. 

The night was something that he would have thought carved out of his deepest dreams and desires, for it did not repeat. But something in Elia’s demeanor changed after this. She now looked at him inquisitively. More confusedly. As if something had gone amiss. More amiss than it had already been, at least. 

“You leave her alone,” Oberyn told him angrily. “She has enough on her plate as it is.” 

Arthur wanted to laugh, so he did. So, Oberyn thought that _he_ was messing with _Elia’s_ head? She has managed to trick even her brother! 

In less than an hour, his anger with her built up more than it had in the last few months together. What did she want? What was she doing? Had she not punished him enough? Why had she bothered to be with him at all if she was going to kick him out of her bedchamber once again? The rumours of other men abounded and Arthur tried not to pay attention since those were inevitable companions to every lady of standing but doubt wormed its way through his heart: what if? 

Furious, he headed for the White Sword Tower, ready to lash out at his good for nothing squire. His shift was starting in less than an hour and if Dawn was not honed and readied… 

In his chamber, he stopped dead at his tracks, suddenly forgetting to enter. Perros Blackmont was ready with Arthur’s weapons, of course he was. He always was. But this time, he had Dawn taken out of her sheath and propped against the wall, drawing his hand along it reverently. This was what Arthur had expected in the beginning; this was what he had never seen. So, his squire was no different from any other Dornish boy, after all. A small part of his world came back in place. 

“I can see you’re ready,” he said and Perros turned his head sharply. Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. In the setting sun that made the first shadows dance across the floor, the boy’s complexion was lost and his facial lines were clear-cut, bones looking free of the case of olive flesh. Facial lines that Arthur had seen in another boy, so long ago… A pair of eyes looked at him and in the dimming light their shape stood out.  Slightly slanted. The eyes of the desert-dwellers, the eyes of House Qorgyle.  Arthur was looking at his mother’s eyes, his brother’s face.  By the Seven, he was looking at his brother’s _son_! 

“Have you ever dreamed of wielding Dawn?” he heard himself ask and wondered why this was the first thing that had come to his mind. 

Perros shook his head. “She’s just a sword, Ser,” he said and for the first time, his voice was verging on the edge of the open offense.  “A _Dayne_ sword.” 

Now, the derision was obvious. 

Things were getting so clear. Even the extent of his goodsister’s estrangement… Once Perros had become old enough, she must have seen the resemblance as well. Arthur had seen how guilty and heartbroken Elia had felt for being unable to give Rhaegar the third child that he desired. For Lady Dayne, it had been likely much, much worse – unable to give her husband even one and knowing that another woman had done it years ago. There was just one thing that Arthur did not understand. But he fixed that soon enough: he could not ask Larra, so he asked Elia, as soon as the Red Keep went quiet and she started reading the petitions that she had not had the time for in the morning. To his chagrin, she did not even look surprised. “Yes,” she said. “The dislike the boy has for Starfall and House Dayne is no secret to anyone. Doran hates discord between the Houses, especially those stated close to each other, so you were given the task of showing the future Lord of Blackmont that Daynes are not as bad as he imagines them to be.” 

“Perhaps Doran should have made me aware of this glorious task, then?” Arthur snapped, as annoyed with her as he was with her brother because he could see that she wanted to change the topic. She wanted to be loyal to her friend Larra while she felt fully entitled to shift loyalties from Arthur to who knew how many! 

“Well, he didn’t,” she snapped back. “Now, I’ve made you aware and this should be enough.” 

“Because it comes from you?” he asked. “I’m getting fed up with just taking in whatever occurs to you to do, you know!” 

To his surprise, she actually looked guilty. “Yes, about this…” 

“What?” 

“I shouldn’t have done this,” she said and looked at him. “I just wanted to check something.” 

“What?” 

“I thought there was something wrong with me.” She was now staring at the last petition. Arthur would have thought that she was reading it carefully if it had not been turned upside down… “It didn’t work.” 

“What?” 

“After Ryon left. It just… didn’t work. No matter how handsome or skilled the men were. It didn’t work on from my end.” 

He took a moment to absorb what she was telling him. “Wait a moment! You mean before you came to me, or later?” 

“Both,” Elia said angrily, as if he was the culprit.” You were the only one it worked with.” 

He blinked and chucked at the absurdity of it all. “So, what are you trying to tell me? That I, the traitor, the one you can never trust, the worst man in Westeros in your eyes – I am the only one who can make you actually feel something during a bedding?” 

“Lower your voice!” she hissed and indeed, in this hour after midnight, every word spoken a little louder carried far. He fell silent because it was easier to not say anything than contain his elation if he started once. At this moment, he was ready to accept Prince Doran’s task with enthusiasm and add another to it: he would make Elia happy. Capable of trust once again. It looked like he was the only one who could. The one who would.

* * *

 

**The End**


End file.
